<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Cullen Father by TheHuffliestPuff</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914351">The Cullen Father</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuffliestPuff/pseuds/TheHuffliestPuff'>TheHuffliestPuff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Next Generation [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Forks Washington, Hurt/Comfort, London, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:42:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuffliestPuff/pseuds/TheHuffliestPuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlisle thought he was dead, but of course that was before he knew vampires were immortal. Follow Carlisle and Edward as they take a trip to London three years after the events of <em>Breaking Dawn<em>. </em></em></p>
<p>Idea and parts of the plot are inspired by the fanfic story<br/>"Father" by Jessica314 on Fanfiction.net. This is the first in a trilogy! The next is "Uncharted Territory", and the third is "Those Thought Lost".</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen, Edward Cullen/Bella Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Next Generation [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/698257">Father</a> by Jessica314.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: The Twilight universe belongs to Steph Meyer and Summit Entertainment, etc. I own null. No profit is made here. </p>
<p>I first started this work way back sometime in 2014, then edited it on 3 September 2016, 11 April 2018, 30 March 2020, 26 September 2020, and finally finished it on 29 September 2020. I read and write for a lot of fandoms and switch between periods of hyperfixation, so it takes me forever to finish a story, but I will never fully abandon it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>...pairing between the homologs is inhibited. However, it differs from classical gene conversion by its high frequency, its requirement for P transpose, its unidirectionality, and its occurrence in somatic and premeiotic— </em>
</p>
<p>I looked up from my article entitled “High-frequency P Element Loss in Drosophila is Homolog Dependent,” distracted by a gentle tap on my study door.</p>
<p>“Come in,” I called softly, putting down the ten-page article from the 62nd Volume of the third issue of the <em>Cell</em> scientific journal on the top of my large mahogany-wood desk.</p>
<p>The study door opened and Edward entered the high-ceiling room. It had tall, west-facing windows and the walls were paneled in a dark wood where they were visible. Most of the wall space was taken up by towering bookshelves that reached high above our heads and held more books than most people have seen outside a library. I sat behind the desk in a leather chair positioned in front of the windows.</p>
<p>I smiled at my son. “You’re back early. Did Renesmee like the aquarium?”</p>
<p>Edward and Bella had taken Renesmee to the Seattle Aquarium on Pier 59 for the day while Alice “dragged” Rosalie, Esme, and a very reluctant Jasper shopping at the local stores around Seattle. That just left Emmett and I at home. I was able to get some paperwork done for the hospital while Emmett played video games and hung out with Seth Clearwater like human teenage boys would at their age.</p>
<p>Ever since the incident with the Volturi back in December of 2006, Jacob Black, Seth Clearwater, and even his older sister, Leah, of the Black Pack, had been more welcome at our house just outside of Forks. Leah had been a little hard to come around, as I’ve heard she doesn’t like being around vampires in general and phasing into her wolf form. Since her brother visits often, she would come once in a while to protect him. I’ve noticed that she is “a bit” overprotective of her little brother. It seemed to annoy Seth at the beginning, but now he just ignores her. Leah has found a confidant in Esme and Rosalie, I think. I’ve often seen them talking to each other out on the porch about broken hearts and other things.</p>
<p>“She loved it,” Edward answered as he sat down across from me. “Until we saw some sharks.”</p>
<p>“She got scared?”</p>
<p>“No, she got thirsty. It was feeding time there and she was fascinated by their movements as they took the dead octopus offered. She was wondering what shark blood tasted like, but Bella got her to settle for a hot dog at the café. Anyway, we decided to come home after that.”</p>
<p>“Sharks to hot dogs,” I mused, grinning at the thought of my granddaughter. “She’s sure a marvel.”</p>
<p>He grinned. “I know,” his topaz eyes held nothing but love and affection for his sweet daughter. “So, are you curious?” he asked, waving a manilla envelope towards me.</p>
<p>To be honest, I hadn’t even noticed it. I held my hand out and took it, undoing the gold prongs and breaking the seal.</p>
<p>“It’s a little gift for Father’s Day,” Edward said casually.</p>
<p>Inside the envelope, I found a colorful brochure for the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, London. With it were two plane tickets out of Seattle-Tacoma International, scheduled for arrival at Heathrow on 11 June, two and a half weeks from now.</p>
<p><em>You’re sending Esme and I to London?</em> I asked mentally in my head, confused as I looked back up at my son.</p>
<p>“Consider it an early Father’s Day gift. And no, I was thinking of going with you myself—just the two of us. But, of course, if you’d rather take Esme—”</p>
<p>I held my hand to stop him. “No, no, it’s perfect,” I said with a smile. “Thank you. You and I haven’t traveled alone together in what, eighty years?” <em>It’ll be just like old times. What’s at the Gallery that week?</em></p>
<p>“Check the schedule.”</p>
<p>I opened the brochure, scanning down to the right date. Starting on the thirteenth of June, there was a special exhibition entitled <em>Discover the Beauty of Baroque</em>, featuring works by selected Baroque painters, like Caravaggio, Rubens, Rembrandt van Rijn, Vermeer, and…</p>
<p>“Solimena,” I read aloud, sitting up straighter in my leather desk chair.</p>
<p>“I called, and they said it’s going to be the most complete of Solimena’s famous works to date. There’s only about seven or eight, but they’re his most famous. The Gallery’s spent the past two years getting collectors to lend their originals for the twenty days. In fact, they’re only missing one,” Edward added with a sly grin, his topaz eyes drifting back toward the door and the large oil painting in question. “We wouldn’t want the exhibition to be incomplete, now would we?”</p>
<p>The Italian painter, Francesco Solimena had done an oil painting of myself and the three Volturi brothers when I had stayed with them and their guard in Volterra, Italy for a few decades, back in the eighteenth-century. The colorful and ornately-framed painting now dominated the wall in front of me, on which the study door stood.</p>
<p>The wall was crowded with framed pictures of all sizes, some in vibrant colors, others dull monochromes. On the left side, there was a small square oil painting in a plain wooden frame. This one did not stand out among the bigger brighter pieces; painted in varying tones of sepia, it depicted the miniature city of London in the sixteen-fifties—the London of my youth. It was full of steeply slanted roofs, with thin spires atop a few scattered towers. A wide river filled the foreground, crossed by a stone bridge covered with structures that looked like tiny cathedrals.</p>
<p>How would it be like to go back to the city of my birth after decades? The quick trip we took in 2006 to help with Renesmee’s case against the Volturi didn’t really count; we had no time to sightsee and relax.</p>
<p>I grinned back at Edward. “No, we would not.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Carlisle and Edward fly to London. Carlisle thinks back on the last time he and Edward travelled alone, and when Carlisle left London as a newborn vampire.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Two and a half weeks later, Edward and I were in the air and on our way to London. I had sent the Solimena painting on ahead via a private courier service, and we had packed light; the trip was only for three days and two nights. Alice and Rosalie had given me a brunette hair dye kit and a pair of designer eyeglasses for Father’s Day and for the trip. It was unlikely that anyone was going to recognize me in the painting of the three Volturi brothers, but it was better to be on the safe side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before we had left for Seattle-Tacoma International Airport at five o’clock (our flight wasn’t until a half hour past six pm), Renesmee had actually managed to surprise her father with a letter, and told him to read it only when we were on the plane, and not before. Edward had hugged her tight and kissed her cheeks and forehead, whispering that he loved her very much and would see her in a few days. When they had pulled back after a half minute, I could see Nessie trying not to cry. Esme had gone forward and hugged her tight, promising her again that she would see her Daddy and Grandpa in a few days. My little gem then hugged me tight and I returned the hug, also pressing a kiss to her forehead. Nessie then got excited at the prospect of being able to hear all the stories we would have once we returned, forgetting all about being sad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the blue-upholstered airplane seat next to me, Edward was fiddling with the letter his daughter had given him, a pensive look to his features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can open that now, Edward. It’s been long enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How much longer do we have?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since the plane window had displayed nothing but blackness for the last few hours, I figured we still had about four or so hours left of the journey. The captain had said before we took off that the flight would take an estimated nine and a half hours nonstop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Edward nodded at the thought in my head and opened the envelope that simply had “Daddy” written on it in elegant script. For a few minutes he was silent as his butterscotch eyes scanned over the full page that Renesmee had written him. When he was done, he put the letter back in the envelope and leaned back, sighing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll see her in a few days, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I thought, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, it’s just gonna be hard, being away from her and Bella for so long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Up until today, Edward had never been away from Bella and Renesmee for more than six hours at a time. Now that Renesmee’s growth was slowing down, though, he was more willing to be apart from her for a few days. As for Bella—well, I was sure that he would be calling her the instant the plane landed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last time the two of us had traveled alone, it had been for quite a different purpose. It was back in 2003, right before we moved to Forks. The possibility of there still being shape-shifters (we only knew them as werewolves at the time) on the Olympic Peninsula was the only thing keeping us from our final destination, and rather than move everyone and everything needlessly, Edward and I had decided to take a weekend trip to scope out the area. We had spent a full day and night zigzagging across the mountainous Peninsula, searching for any trace of werewolf scent. When we didn’t find any, we cautiously approached the treaty line at La Push and spent another night walking along the length of it. Edward had wanted to cross the line and get a closer “look” at the minds within the Quileute reservation, but I had felt that we should respect the treaty, even if the wolves had died out—which it appeared they had. The two of us had returned to our family in Alaska the next day, reporting that the move was a go. Ironically enough, it may well have been that brief visit that triggered Sam Uley’s transition during the months that followed </span>
  <b>(true!)</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I remembered feeling a bit anxious on that trip, as we were flying to Washington. I had had no way of knowing if we were going to find any werewolves, and, if so, how our visit would be received. Edward and I were both hoping that the werewolves had died out, so that we could return to the Olympic Peninsula in peace. Ever since our family—minus Alice and Jasper—had lived in Hoquiam on the shores of Grays Harbor back in 1936, we had always wanted to return. We had lived in so many places, but that was the one that had always felt like home. And now, flying back to my true homeland, I felt some anxiety, as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t as though I had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>avoiding </span>
  </em>
  <span>London all these centuries. I had certainly avoided it for most of the remainder of the seventeenth-century, for several reasons. I had avoided all populated areas, in the beginning—I didn’t know much about what I had become, but I knew what would happen if I let myself get too close to the human populace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was more than that, though. I suppose I wanted to avoid running into the coven of vampires who had been my undoing, and I certainly didn’t want to encounter any more raiding parties like the one I had led that fateful night. It would be unlikely that I would run into either, as the raiding parties had, for the most part, ended around 1700 for witches and around 1720 to the late 1730s for vampires. But the real reason was my human father. After ten years (when I would have been thirty-three), I had finally felt strong enough to go visit him. Oh, he never knew I was there. I didn’t know of the Volturi’s law at the time, but I knew better than to reveal myself. Not just because of the danger, but because I knew what my father’s reaction would be. He was a self-righteous, intolerant man whose only joy in life was finding things to hate. I had been one of those people to hate, as I had caused my mother’s death when I was born, and he had made sure—quite often—to remind me of that fact. My brief human life had been one futile attempt after another to earn his approval.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when I finally got up the courage to approach the rectory, back in 1673, I kept my distance. I got close enough that I could see him walking around at night, hunched over in his old age as his gnarled hands carried the night candle from the kitchen to his bedroom. I was close enough to see the ever-present scowl on his face, deepened now with wrinkles. I could also see, scattered across the side garden in the courtyard made by the surrounding buildings, the familiar evidence of his favorite ministry: wooden stakes, a garlic patch, and a row of burned-out torches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the garlic patch that confirmed my suspicion that he hadn’t changed; the patch was still well-tended, and I knew that my father hated the taste of the smelly root vegetable, whereas I had loved it. There was only one reason that he was continuing to grow it: to keep monsters like me away. When I saw this, I felt an uncharacteristic stirring of anger, and a ridiculous urge to throw open the front door, and take a large bite of garlic right in front of him. As I watched John walk through the house, I noticed something new hanging in the small sitting room: a portrait of myself. As my father walked past it, he reached up and laid his long thin fingers reverently on the painting, bowing his head for a moment of prayer before moving toward the stairs and to his bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I suppose it was what any father would have done—keeping up a picture of his son, long presumed dead. Another father might have kept it out of love, or nostalgia. But I recognized the reverence in his movements as he had touched the portrait. It was the reverence he held for all Christian martyrs, and I had seen him do it with other paintings before. It seemed that with my death, I had done what I had never managed in life: I had finally made him proud. He had lost his only child in the battle against evil—it must have been an immense source of satisfaction to him. In a way, his prophecy that he had muttered under his breath more than once during my childhood, had come true: I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>better off dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time the candle was blown out, my anger had faded into grief. Not grief for the father I had lost; grief for the father I had never had in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I came back at the same time every night, watching from a distance. I felt a sense of duty to watch over the pitiful man who lived alone there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My duty didn’t last long. Scarcely less than a fortnight into my vigil, the rectory was devoid of candlelight one evening. The smell of death was already in the air. I was quite surprised that he had lived this long, what with the Great Plague of ‘65 and the Great Fire just a year later. I only entered the house long enough to close his eyes, cover him with a blanket, and grab a few of my most precious possessions. I stole over to the neighbor’s place and left a note on their door alerting them to their rector’s death, and then ran away after knocking on the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I kept running for a long time, until there wasn’t any land left, and then swimming the English Channel—anything to escape my father’s blue eyes, devoid of life; eyes that stared into the full light of the moon, open and undreaming, glazed from being dead. It wasn’t until I heard a fisherman speaking French that I realized where I had ended up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I never returned to London again. It was superstitious nonsense to think John Cullen’s spirit was hovering over the city, frowning down on me, but that was how I imagined it. London had never brought me any kind of happiness before, and though I had visited other corners of the British Isles since, I had never wanted to return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was brought out of my memories by a light touch on my knee. I opened my golden-butterscotch eyes to see Edward leaning toward me, his brow furrowed with worry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly so others would not overhear. “I never thought about what it might be like for you to return to London.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I want to do this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I thought back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was a long time ago. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A smile twitched at the corner of Edward’s lips as he settled back into his own seat, no doubt watching my thoughts warily. I closed my eyes again, reassuring him mentally that I would be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An hour later, the captain of the Delta flight came over the loudspeaker, telling us that we would be beginning the descent into London Heathrow Airport. The current time was twelve-thirty pm on Thursday, 11 June 2009.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Hoped you all liked this slightly shorter chapter! If any of you are interested, a flight from Seattle-Tacoma to Heathrow would take around nine and a half hours nonstop if scheduled on 1 July and the return flight on 4 July, 2015. Just go to Delta.com. That’s how much of a perfectionist I am, I even look up how long an actual flight from SEA to LHR would take that is really a minor detail.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Carlisle and Edward arrive in London and start site-seeing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am oh so sorry for not posting before now! I have been very busy with job searching and doing an online medical terminology course (it's so interesting!), as well as weekly Twilight stuff.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Once Edward and I had collected our bags at baggage reclaim on the ground floor of Terminal 3, we headed out into the city of London and to our hotel to drop off our bags. We didn’t bother to rent a car because as being vampires, our muscles didn’t tire, so we could walk for as long as we wanted. Our hotel was the Charing Cross Hotel on the Strand, a five minute walk from Trafalgar Square and a forty-two minute drive from the airport. In order to keep up human appearances, Edward and I booked a hotel room, even though we would not use it for its intended purpose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many people would think that the Baroque exhibition would be held at the National Portrait Gallery that adjoins the National Gallery on Trafalgar Square, but the former is only for displaying portraits and photographs of eminent figures in British history, and usually selected on the basis of the significance of the sitter, not that of the artist. The National Gallery on the other hand, houses the largest collection of paintings spanning from the mid-thirteenth-century to 1900, and houses visiting exhibitions that tour the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our hotel for the weekend-long trip was an iconic Central London landmark serving as the gateway to London’s West End and its world-famous shops, theatres, and other attractions. The Charing Cross Station was adjacent to the hotel. It was completed in 1865, at the height of the Victorian railway boom. The wealth and confidence of the era was reflected in the hotel's sheer scale and opulence and has retained its nineteenth-century refined and elegant atmosphere. The building was a Grade II listed building before it was turned into a hotel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside the hotel, inside the tall wrought-iron gateway and fence and stone posts topped with the signature globe street lamp with a wrought-iron base, a few bike racks and many cars were in the cobbled car park. The eight-sided Eleanor Cross (properly called the Queen Eleanor Memorial Cross) stood tall and majestic at seventy feet high in the Charing Cross Station forecourt outside the Station and Hotel. It was designed by Edward Middleton Barry, the architect of the Charing Cross Hotel in 1863-1865, constructed from Portland stone, Red Mansfield stone, and Aberdeen granite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know the real story behind the original Eleanor Cross, Edward?” I asked as we stood in front of the cross, gazing up at the different tiers of Victorian masonry masterpiece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole structure stood on top of a tall plinth of Mansfield stone and Aberdeen granite. The plinth was so tall that the wrought-iron street lamps around the Cross were the same height. The first tier of the Cross was made of eight arched windows with arched hood moulds (one for each side) with three trefoils and a vertical light that split each window in two parts. On each window “pane” was a heraldic shield, the window panes and shields being of Red Mansfield stone. Above each window was a bit of blind tracery of the traditional castle and a lion rampant (two figures of Queen Eleanor’s father’s coat of arms of Castile and León) to give the plain stone some decoration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our eyes were so strong that they could see every little detail in each different corbel or grotesque statues that held up the crenellated parapet that started the next tier. There were four gargoyles on each side (thirty-two total). In between each side (and before the second tier) was a dormer-type window with a single trefoil and crockets on the pinnacles of the dormers. They and the parapets were made of Portland stone. A bulbed finials was on top. On each side of the second tier was a pointed window with one of three heraldic shields (same as the three previously described) made of Red Mansfield stone, with pointed hood moulds that held carvings of flowers made of Aberdeen granite. On the third tier were niches for statues of Queen Eleanor. Each statue was wearing a crown with hair falling on her shoulders. There were two statue types, one where the Queen was holding the Sovereign’s Sceptre with the Cross in her right hand and the round Sovereign’s Orb with the gold cross in her left hand while wearing a Tudor rose necklace, and the other statue was where the Queen was holding a closed book with both hands against her chest. The pointed pinnacles of the niches had crockets on them, as well. Angels with hands clasped before them were on little plinths at each corner of the Eleanor Cross on the second tier. A dome covered with crockets led up to the gables with a single trefoil in them before finally ending with the gold cross at the very top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The original was marble and stood where the equestrian statue of King Charles I is in the round-about. There were twelve crosses commissioned by King Edward I upon his wife’s death, Queen Eleanor of Castile in 1290. The twelve crosses were built in the twelve cities where her funeral procession passed on its way to Westminster Abbey from Harby, Nottinghamshire,” Edward replied, as if reading from a textbook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Precisely,” I nodded, a grin on my face. “Now, let’s check in, drop off our bags, and tour around for a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward nodded in agreement, falling in-step with me as I led the way to the entrance of the Charing Cross Hotel on Strand. The Grade II listed building boasted 239 rooms spread over seven floors of Victorian architecture on the outside and modern convenience on the inside. The building wrapped around the front and left side of the Charing Cross Station, except for that building’s main entrance. A patio with decorative railings ran the length of the second floor. Navy flags with silver words said CHARING CROSS HOTEL hung in front of the entrance along with a single Union Jack flag. Two purple leaf plum trees were potted in black square pots on either side of the revolving door. Above the door on the glass, was written CHARING CROSS HOTEL in silver. Edward and I went through the revolving door and stepped into the marble reception area with our suitcases rolling behind us like obedient puppies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, welcome to the Charing Cross Hotel,” a brown-haired receptionist said. “How may I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like all human females, she blushed and her heart sped up when she saw Edward and I. She wore a white dress shirt and a black single-breasted suit jacket with a notched lapel and the Guoman logo on the left breast. The nametag on her other breast told me her name was Kate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, I’m Carlisle Cullen. I made a booking yesterday for my son and I. One twin room for two nights,” I said, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, let me look it up quick,” She went over to a computer and typed something in. A few seconds later she turned back to us and said, “Alright, you’re all checked in. Your room is number 245 on the second floor,” She said, handing me two room keys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you very much.” I said, taking them from her. I had to remember that the second floor really meant the third. The first floor in American-English is called the ground floor in British-English. The numbering would start on the second floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lifts are in the main room down the corridor to your left. For breakfast, the Brassiere on the first floor is open from 8.30-10.30 and the Lounge for Afternoon Tea, all day snacks, and cocktails. Enjoy your stay,” Kate said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded with a smile and then led Edward down the light marble floored corridor that led into the main room. The corridor had a red carpet running down the length of it and white walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The large main room had white marble floors veined lightly with gray and a large dark red rug. The walls were white with little floral designs along the side of the sweeping grand staircase to the left of the room. The railing was made of veneered wood and a red stair runner rug that matched the one on the floor went up it. Next to it, a corridor led to the elevators. In the little niche that the staircase made were two modern red velvet sofas with throw pillows facing each other and two pinstriped modern armchairs, also with throw pillows. A black wood coffee table stood in between the four pieces of furniture. An old-fashioned coat rack stood in the corner and a seascape painting showing white-capped waves. Two wall sconces were on either side of it above one of the sofas. French double-doors in the right-hand corner led to the business centre. A small table with a red-upholstered chair stood below an intricately framed mirror by the doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of us went down the corridor to the elevators and went up to the third floor. Opening a light wood door, we stepped out into a bright red carpeted corridor with white walls and matching wood chair rails. Can lights ran down the edges of the ceilings. We walked down the corridor until we found our room about halfway down. Unlocking the door with my key card, Edward and I went in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wow!” Edward said upon seeing the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, son, this isn’t the priciest suite there is, I checked on the website while booking our room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Deluxe Twin room had dark brown carpet and white walls. The doors to the closet, bathroom, and room door were all light wood, along with the baseboards, headboard, and one-drawer nightstands. The two twin beds with Egyptian linen and dark bedspreads were quite close, but that didn’t matter as we wouldn’t be using them. Three small black-framed pictures with thick white borders hung above the beds. On the wall that held the door, a desk and chair stood with a tiny black coffee maker and tea packets. A black-framed, 32” PHILIPS LED-LCD TV was above the desk. On the left-hand wall was the door to the bathroom. Neither Edward or I checked it out, as we would not be using it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward put his suitcase on one of the beds and I put mine on the other. Turning to face him, I said, “Do you want to check out the rest of the hotel or just start touring?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s start touring. I don’t care about checking out the rest of the hotel. We’re just here to keep our bags someplace and hang out at night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, you’re right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving through reception, we appeared out on the cobbled car park. Birds chirped and cars drove past filled with occupants headed back to work after a lunch break or to run errands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do you want to go first, Dad?” Edward asked as a business couple in a suit and dress suit passed us on their way into the hotel with briefcases and suitcases in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go this way,” I said, pointing left down Strand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was great showing my eldest son around the city of my youth. So much had changed in three centuries, London was almost unrecognizable save for a handful of historic buildings and a few alleyways. We first went to the farthest point that I wanted to show him: Windsor Castle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Windsor Castle was a royal residence at Windsor in the county of Berkshire just west of London. The oldest and largest inhabited castle in the world. It was originally built in the eleventh-century after the Norman invasion by William the Conqueror, as a motte-and-bailey, with three wards surrounding a central mound gradually replaced with stone fortifications. It occupied thirteen acres </span>
  <b>(5.3 ha.) </b>
  <span>and combined the features of a fortification, a palace, and a small town. It was in essence a Georgian and Victorian design based on a medieval structure, with Gothic features reinvented in a modern style. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The castle was the birthplace of the Order of the Garter, founded by King Edward III during his reign of fifty years (1327-1377), and the gothic St. George’s Chapel in the lower ward was its spiritual home. When Charles II became king in 1660, he decided to decorate the castle in the latest artistic style of Baroque. He also introduced the French </span>
  <em>
    <span>levée </span>
  </em>
  <span>ceremony to the English court, and the style of architecture where one with status could penetrate deeper into the smaller and more intimate state rooms. The castle was brought back to life by King George III (r. 1760-1820) about eleven years into his reign. His son, King George IV reinvented and romanticized the castle to what we see today, all within his short ten year reign between 1820 and 1830.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king transformed the hodgepodge of architectural styles into a single Gothic castle. Where there were plain walls, he spiced them up with parapets, arrow slits, gargoyles, and pointed Gothic arches. He even added an extra thirty feet </span>
  <b>(9.1m) </b>
  <span>to the central Round Tower to make it seem more imposing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward and I bought our tickets to see both the state apartments and the semi-state rooms before entering the castle through St. George’s Gate entrance to the right of Edward III Tower, right where the visitor’s apartments started. On the cobblestone strip, as other tourists swarmed past us, Edward and I stood in front of the second gate that comprised St. George’s Gate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow!” Edward breathed, a smile creeping across his face as he looked around at what lay around us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s magnificent,” I agreed, grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In front of us and a little to the left stood the large Round Tower and its garden upon the fifty-foot tall </span>
  <b>(15.2m) </b>
  <span>chalk motte. The Union Jack was flying proudly from the flagpole, not Her Majesty’s Colors as I had secretly hoped. If it were, the state apartments and semi-state rooms would not have been open to the public. Even though Windsor Castle was her official residence and favorite home, the Queen rarely came during the week, except for official and state occasions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, then,” I gestured in front of my son and I. “Let’s look around.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Heys, guys! Sorry for the long chapter of description. I just love history and architecture, so I wanted to explain it as much as possible. I actually took out quite a bit to make the chapter shorter. (I'm such a geek, I love it and drool over those gorgeous places that I wish I could live in or by them). Hope you guys liked this chapter even so! Please, review. Constructive criticism is appreciated. </p><p>There are quite a few sources, but I for the life of me, don't know how to do links on AO3! So, you'll just have to believe me. Look up pictures of all the places (and Eleanor Cross) I mentioned, they are beautiful! I wanted to describe Hampton Court Palace, but decided just to mention it instead.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Carlisle and Edward go to the Tower of London.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am very sorry for all of you how do not like a lot of description, especially architecture description, and history. This chapter is basically all that. Sorry, not sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Once we got back into central London and before we went to the Tower of London, I grabbed a “Historic Sites” brochure. Edward and I had a good laugh as we looked through it, discovering that most of the sites were younger than me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least it’s still cloudy,” I remarked, tossing the memorized brochure into a rubbish bin. “That particular feature has stood the test of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Tower of London was located on the north bank of the River Thames in central London. The full name of the historic castle was Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress. It was over 1,000 years old, and still stood guard at the edge of London. The Tower began in 1066, when William the Conqueror constructed a fortress in the heart of the capital city designed to shock and awe any rebellious Londoners and deter foreign invasion. The colossal status symbol towered ninety-feet high above the deepest inland port on the River, commanding the key crossing-place at the hub of vital trading routes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were three entrances to the compound. Middle Tower in the southwest corner, Traitor’s Gate in the south center, and Henry III’s Watergate to the left of Traitor’s Gate. All of the gates faced the River Thames. Traitor’s Gate was previously known as St. Thomas’s Tower, and built by Edward I from 1275-79. It replaced the Bloody Tower as the castle’s water-gate. The dock was covered with arrow slits in case of an attack on the castle from the River; there were also a portcullis at the entrance to control who entered, but it was now half submerged under water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here successively Edward, Duke of Buckinghamshire (17 May 1521); Sir Thomas More (6 July 1535); George Boleyn, 2nd Viscount Rochford (17 May 1536); Queen Anne Boleyn (19 May 1536); Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex (28 July 1540); Queen Katheryn Howard (13 February 1542); Edward Seymour, 1st Duke of Somerset (22 January 1552); Lady Jane Grey (12 February 1554); Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex (25 February 1601); and James Scott, 1st Duke of Monmouth (1 July 1685), passed under the wide arch on their way to prison or the scaffold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As we were walking the bridge to Bywater Tower, we looked into the 100-foot-wide “moat” that had long since been drained and filled with grass. Inside on a slab of concrete were three chicken wire Barbary lions in different poses. The real animals had been part of an ancient royal menagerie along with a host of many different animals from all over the world in the twelfth to fourteenth centuries. The lions were the first to arrive in 1235. Because people were getting hurt from escaped menagerie animals and the animals were attacking each other, the menagerie closed its doors in 1832. A chicken wire African elephant stuck his head out of a large opening beneath a staircase. There were three chicken wire monkeys in various poses on a concrete plinth by the same staircase. There was also a Norwegian “white bear” chicken wire statue that had one hind leg chained to its concrete slab. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Passing through the Bywater Tower, Edward and I, along with a throng of tourists, emerged onto Mint Street. It ran all the way around the outer ward. The street was cobbled and there were parking stalls for cars along the casements. We passed the Bell Tower as we walked down Water Lane on the southwest corner of the inner curtain wall. It was planned in the reign of Richard I (1189-1199) and was one of thirteen towers that studded the inner curtain wall. Here, Saint John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester; Sir Thomas More; Princess Elizabeth; and James Scott, 1st Duke of Monmouth were confined during their respective sojourns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward and I went through the Bloody Tower and into the inner ward. The Bloody Tower dated from the reigns of Edward III and Richard II, being believed to be the scene of the murders of Edward V and his brother, Richard of Shrewsbury, the Duke of York in 1483. They were called the princes in the tower because they were seen less and less within the Tower of London (when it was still a royal residence) once Richard III came into power in June of 1483. In the summer of that year they disappeared from public view altogether and were thought to have been murdered. Workmen of the Tower had actually found two small skeletons in a wooden box that belonged to the boys in 1674 by the White Tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inner ward housed the Queen’s House in the lower left-hand corner, Tower Green and the scaffold site as a memorial next to it, and the Chapel Royal of St Peter ad Vincula in the upper left-hand side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tower Green was where the scaffold site was, located on a space south of the Chapel Royal. William Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings; George Boleyn, 2nd Viscount Rochford; Queen Anne Boleyn; Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury; Queen Katheryn Howard; Jane Boleyn, Viscountess Rochford; Lady Jane Grey; and Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex were known to have been executed there by axe (save for Anne Boleyn, who was executed by sword).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seven black ravens were in the Green. They had permanent residence in the Tower; their wings were clipped so they couldn’t fly away. The Ravenmaster, Chris Skaife—one of the Yeoman Warders—tended to the birds. They even had names and their own pens next to Wakefield Tower. The warders commented that the “real beefeaters” at the Tower were the ravens, who received a daily ration of beef. A superstition from the time of Charles II claimed that when there were no longer ravens in the Tower, both the White Tower and the kingdom would fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Interesting mural inscriptions could be found in Beauchamp Tower’s chambers, as the tower housed prisoners of rank. A person entered at the southeast corner and ascended by a circular staircase to the middle chamber, which was spacious and had a large window and a fireplace. Most of the inscriptions could be found here, having been brought over from other chambers. A few were in the entrance passage and on the staircase. All were numbered and catalogued. On the ground floor near the entrance was ROBART DVDLEY. On the left, at the entrance of the great chamber, was carved a cross, with other religious emblems, and the name and arms of PEVEREL, and the date 1570 could be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Carlisle, come take a look at this.” Edward said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walked over to him where he was standing in front of the fireplace. Over it, was an inscription in Latin: “The more suffering for Christ in this world the more Glory with Christ in the next.” It was signed “Arundel, June 22, 1587.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s interesting,” I said. I couldn’t decide if it was true or not. All of my children and my wife and I certainly had gone through a great deal of suffering, while we were human and as vampires (Bella, Renesmee, and the Volturi incident pleading them to see that she was good, and in turn that we were good vampires who respected human life and some of us still held faith in God), so hopefully, when we did die, and go to some type of afterworld, we would experience more glory with God.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the right of the fireplace was an elaborate piece of sculpture which was a memorial to the five brothers Dudley: Ambrose (created Earl of Warwick 1561), Guildford (beheaded 1554), Robert (created Earl of Leicester 1563), and Henry (killed at the siege of St. Quintin 1558). It was carved by the eldest Dudley, John (called Earl of Warwick) who died in 1554. Under a bear and lion supporting a ragged staff was the name of “JOHN DUDLE,” and surrounding them were a wreath of roses (for Ambrose), oak leaves (for Robert), gillyflower (for Guildford), and honeysuckle (for Henry). Below were four lines, one of them incomplete, alluding to the device and its meaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An inscription of “JANE” was in a window. Could it have been for Lady Jane Grey, daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, and wife of Guildford Dudley, fourth son of the Duke of Northumberland? It was probably carved by her husband, as Lady Jane stayed in the house of Partridge, the Gaoler, not in the Beauchamp Tower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A Yeoman Warder (commonly known as a Beefeater) was leading a group of tourists inside the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula. It was Moira Cameron, the first female Yeoman Warder ever. She had been appointed in 2007 at the age of forty-two. </span>
  <span>Until 1603, the Tower was a royal residence and his predecessors ate at the King’s table. In those days cattle were primarily used for milking and their meat was a luxury food, although beef was served to the King and, by tradition, the Yeoman Warders were entitled to what was left—giving birth to the nickname ‘Beefeater,’ the term by which they are most commonly known today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were thirty-seven Yeoman Warders and one Chief Yeoman Warder who all lived at the Tower as its guards; a tradition that goes back to King Henry VII’s bodyguards, established in 1485. In order to be one you had to be retired from the Armed Forces of Commonwealth realms and must be a former senior non-commissioned officers of petty officers with at least twenty-two years of service. They also must have the Long Service and Good Conduct medals. The Yeoman Warder wore her Victorian blue “undress” uniform. It consisted of dark blue trousers with a red stripe on the outseam, a dark blue tunic with skirts that had red trimmings. On the chest was embroidered an EIIR below a coronation crown for Queen Elizabeth II. The cuffs were red with bands above them, and the collar was also red. There was a matching dark blue belt with red trimmings and a gold buckle for the tunic. They wore a dark blue hat with a red double target, black leather gloves, and black shoes. All of the Warders lived on site with their families. They even have their own Doctor’s Surgery and English Pub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking around past the chapel, Edward and I went to the long Waterloo Block that was to the left of the chapel. This was where the Crown Jewels were kept. The Two Coldstream Guards sentry stood outside the Jewel House. Edward and I were actually very excited to go inside and take a look at the priceless jewels. I had never seen them when I was human, as my father didn’t believe in having to pay money to sightsee places we’ve lived around for years, even if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Crown Jewels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The present Jewel House was built in the west wing of the Waterloo Block in 1992-1994 and to accommodate 1,000 people. It contained a combined strongroom/display area in the ground floor that was all one level. The entrance was in the west front of the block. The display area was three times the size of the old Jewel House in 1966, and more efficient crowd management techniques meant that it was capable of handling four times the number of visitors, at 2,500 an hour. This was achieved largely through use of a moving pavement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fiber optics were used to light the displays, and the jewels were protected by two-inch thick shatterproof glass. The cases were of brass and contained inert materials, and filtered air. The jewels rested on French red velvet. The House housed the imperial state crown, St. Edward’s Crown, the Sovereign’s Orb, the Sovereign’s Sceptre with the Cross, the sceptre with the dove, the jewelled Sword of Offering, the Great Sword of State, and various other sacred objects used in the coronation ceremony of kings and queens including the ampulla, anointing spoon, and altar dish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the jewels were in situ, no photos or film of them were allowed to take place. Edward and I broke that rule. As vampires, we could quickly take photos of the items so quickly that humans wouldn’t be able to see properly what we were doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The real beauty that millions of tourists came to see every year was the White Tower, located in the middle of the whole Tower of London. It was a keep, which contained lodgings suitable for the lord (the king and his representative). The real reason Edward and I were here was to see the White Tower (besides the Crown Jewels), and to pay our respects to the dead at the scaffold memorial. We would do that after we had toured the White Tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The White Tower was the old keep built by William the Conqueror from 1078-97 by chief architect, Gundulf, Bishop of Rochester. The walls were fifteen-feet thick at the base and almost eleven-feet thick in the upper stories. It was made of solid Kentish rag-stone, with some local mudstone used. Little Caen stone survives today, but it was used, and has been replaced by Portland stone. The tower was square, with Portland stone quoins. Above the parapets, four turrets were built with beautiful onion cupolas and crosses on top of them. The west side measured 107 feet from north to south. The south side measured 118 feet. The entrance to the tower was on the second floor </span>
  <b>(first floor in British English)</b>
  <span> on the south side face accessed via a wooden removable staircase. Square towers were at the western corners, while the northeast had a round tower that housed a spiral staircase. At the southeast corner was a large semicircular projection which accommodated the apse of the Chapel of St. John on the second floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the White Tower was intended to be a comfortable residence in years past, as well as a stronghold, latrines (guardrobes) were built into the walls, and four fireplaces provided warmth. The tower was terraced into the side of a mound, so the northern side of the basement was partially below ground level. The basement held a little dungeon called the Little Ease. It was built into the thickness of the wall and measured just four square feet. The hapless prisoner could neither sit, stand, nor lie, but was compelled to serve his sentence in a cramped crouching position. Guy Fawkes was shackled hand and foot to it following his arrest for his involvement in the Gunpowder plot of 1605.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first real room of interest to either Edward or I was the Small Arms Room. It had a large opening in the south wall that was the original opening to the White Tower, but was now filled with glass. Near to it were kettle drums, cavalry boots of the seventeenth-century, and the horse-furniture of William III.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Down the sides of the room were glass display cases showing the development of firearms from the matchlock in 1475 to the flintlock in 1610, pistols of both types, and a series of interesting experimental weapons of the ninth century. Two table cases contained powder flasks, bandoliers, and other furnishings for the musketeer. In the center was a model of part of the Battle of Waterloo, made in 1840.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took pictures with my iPhone of the five cannons, banner, and guns for my soldier back home. I know he would have great interest in these.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like historic guns?” a Scottish accent asked me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no,” I turned my head to see a middle-aged Yeoman Warder with brown hair and a little gray peeking out of his hat. “I’m taking pictures for my son back home,” I said, giving the man a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, an American. How are you liking London?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s great. A bit cloudy and rainy, but other than that it’s wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “Yes, it is. Well, that’s good. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will. Thank you, sir,” I nodded and smiled as he moved on to another small family of three who were gathered around the cannons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward and I entered the Sword Room. The room contained glass display cases devoted to swords from the fifteenth-century up to the middle of the nineteenth-century, and a collection of British and French regimental cavalry helmets and infantry shakos. One of the two remaining original fireplaces was there, its flute being carried up for a short distance in the wall, and ending in narrow openings for the escape of smoke on either side of a buttress on the east face of the White Tower. On this floor and the floor below were small guardrobes chambers contrived into the thickness of the wall, some of them still retaining the original archest vests on the outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After taking pictures of the swords for Jasper, Edward and I passed into the Weapon Room. I just knew Jasper would have loved this space. For many years it was known as the Banqueting Room. The two large white Corinthian order columns had pistols pointing down going around them in six layers. The contained specimens of staff-weapons, maces, axes, and other weapons of offence ranging round the room in stands each labelled with the name of the type of weapon it contained. The tall slanted ceiling had large wood exposed beams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Dad, come look at this,” Edward called from across the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wow. This is cool!” I said. Taking out my phone, I took a few pictures of the display, some far away covering the whole thing and some close up of each type of weapon. Jasper would love this and probably be able to identify all of the weapons much better than I was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the wall in front of us was a giant carved wood lion head roaring. It had red pupils and a red mouth with white canines. Around it, in a circle were twenty-two eighteenth century flintstone pistols, with the muzzles pointing towards the lion. In an X pattern beneath the round raised circle that held the pistols and lion head, were seven swords, each making up a point of the X. In three columns were three spears on either side of the big raised square that held the lion head, the pistols, and swords. In rows of nine, were overlapping muskets. At the ends were three more vertical spears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hurrying through the rest of the rooms of the White Tower and taking photos I thought my family would like, Edward and I finally appeared back outside. We walked over to the scaffold memorial by Tower Green. In the middle of the Green was a small square plot paved with granite, which showed the site on which stood the scaffold where private executions took place. The memorial was designed by Brian Cating. The circular memorial focused on the ten famous executions that took place on Tower Green. It comprised of two engraved circles with a glass-sculpted pillow at its center, the larger circle of dark stone had a poem written by Cating around its rim, whilst the upper glass circle had the engraved names of the ten famous and not so famous individuals executed. The arches supporting the upper glass disk allowed leaves and other debris to blow harmlessly through it whilst symbolically reflecting the arches of the chapel where the remains of the executed ten still lie. When the memorial was first unveiled, the Tower of London’s flashlights turned red for two weeks after dark, and a special concert of memorial music was held at the chapel in 2006.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gentle visitor pause a while, where you stand death cut away the light of many days. Here jewellery names were broken from the vivid thread of life. May they rest in peace while we still walk the generations around their strife and courage under these restless skies.” I read the poem quietly to myself while Edward said the name of each person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“William Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings (1483); Queen Anne Boleyn (1536); Queen Catherine Howard (1542); Jane Boleyn, Viscountess Rochford (1542); Lady Jane Grey (1554); Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex (1601); Corporal Malcolm MacPhearson (1743); Corporal Samuel MacPhearson (1743); Private Farquar Shaw (1743).”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: I got Carlisle’s office description from Twilight, Ch. 16 “Carlisle.”</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>